Flatmates
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: Aka "The Story of How Connor Went from Hating Lester To...Other." /Slash. rated M for a reason. Connor/Lester. kinky. And it's pretty long, too/


Nicholas: Here's a Primeval fanfic. Probably my first, I'm not sure. I just wanted Connor to have awesome, rough sex with someone and Lester elected himself because he's kinky. Lol

Disclaimer: I'm not that crazy. I'm just this crazy. That? That's all them.

Rating: M...sex, kinky violence, language, don't let your mothers see you reading this.

* * *

"Temple, if you have any urge whatsoever not to end up living on the streets, pick your bloody boxers up from the bathroom floor!"

Abruptly, Connor sat up only to have the aforementioned article of clothing flung directly into his face. He sat there for a moment, eyebrows raised behind a veil of his cotton underpants. Rolling his eyes, he pulled the cloth from his head and sniffed it. They weren't even dirty, the whiny bastard. When he looked up, he half-expected to see Lester standing there with a pair of long, bar-b-que tongs with which his germ phobic boss had used to actually pick up his boxers. Fortunately, the man had already disappeared back into the bathroom, where he could very well stay for all Connor cared. He lay back down and closed his eyes again. Connor hated Lester.

* * *

"I hate my life," Connor muttered to himself, staring into the stainless steel surface of the ARC's only fridge that was allowed to have food in it. He pressed his forehead into the surface in hopes that maybe—just maybe—it would take away the head ache. Because he loved Sid and Nancy to pieces, honest he did, he couldn't be mad at them when they decided that Lester's bedding looked particularly inviting as a chew toy. Of course, that left only himself to be angry with.

Oh, and Lester was angry with him, too, which is just _fun_.

"Why do you hate your life?" came a voice from behind him.

He started, almost dropping his open water bottle when he spun around to see Sarah standing in the doorway, head cocked to the side, hand on her hip. "Uh…" he said eloquently, "Well, you…you know, it's just…" He couldn't very well say _I hate my life because I live with Lester and the man has a goddamned color code for his staples_. Lester would have his balls—and most likely in the literal sense. "Hangover."

Sarah nodded slowly and raised an eyebrow as if to say "yeah right, and look at that pig that just flew over head." Connor _really_ hated Lester.

* * *

Lester was in the process of making up his bed—putting on new sheets and blankets and basically remodeling the entire space that his bed took up in his room. For some reason, the sight invited Connor to pause as he walked by and look in through the open door. With a mild but lingering curiosity, he watched the fascinating way that Lester's shirt shifted over his back and trim sides when he moved, and how the tails were almost out of his slacks because of all the leaning over and reaching he had to do. The man had a king-sized bed. Connor tried not to let it bother him that he still had to sleep on the couch when Lester obviously had room to share.

Then again, that thought…that was starting to lead to things that just…well, that Connor just didn't want to be thinking about. First of all, Lester was his boss, and second of all, _ew_. Not to mention that Connor was going through the various stages of loathing for the man. Yeah, so what was with the random image of Lester, sprawled out on that bed in…a naughty state of undress.

Shaking his head, Connor watched Lester bend over and tuck the top sheet under the mattress in a perfect corner with practiced ease. If only to distract himself from the fact that he was staring at his boss' rump, he spoke. "Man, you have to be gay. At least to some degree."

Lester, for his part, looked proper shocked when he stood straight and turned. That shock, though, quickly turned into a vicious, deathly glare that only this man seemed to be capable of pulling off while wearing suspenders. "Connor," he began, the low tenor of his voice hitting a pang that screamed murder, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

It was then that Connor realized that he was standing at Lester's doorway, practically perving at the man while he enjoyed the privacy of his bedroom the way only Lester could. A bright red flush colored his cheeks when he noted that he really didn't have any excuse for standing there like that. Somewhat flustered, he backed up out into the hall and looked at his shoes.

"Sorry," he muttered. When he looked up, though, and saw something else flicker in the man's gaze, his body did something that desperately confused him. He started to get an erection. "I'll just…um—go." He made a hasty retreat. Connor thought he hated Lester.

* * *

He spent all of the next morning trying to figure out what had happened, why his dick had decided that then of all times was a good time to take interest. By his clock, he barely made it to the bathroom before it was threatening a dire matter, and he had no idea why. Well, that isn't completely true, he had one lead. As disturbing as the thought may have been, it had something to do with Lester. And yet, Connor also knew that it wasn't disturbing—at least not to an extent that he was comfortable with. Something about the way Lester had glared at him; something mixed in with the raw fury in his eyes had hit Connor some sort of right way.

Staring blankly at his computer screen, he tried to force himself to focus on something other than Lester's eyes on him, and how that deep, furious glare had made him react. He remembered the wave of heat that just went straight down into his belly and quickly found himself blushing again. _Stupid Lester with his stupid anal tendencies still leaves his stupid door open stupid!_

"Connor, get to work, I don't pay you to fantasize about me on the job."

Just like that, Lester was passing through the hall upstairs and back into his office without sparing Connor a second glance. Perhaps if he had he would have seen the horrified look on the techie's face and the burgundy shade of red that seeped into his cheeks. Connor shot a glance around and thankfully it was earlier enough in the day that no one had made it into the detector room yet to hear that rather cavalier comment, and…wait just a moment. What the hell? Why was it that Lester had implied Connor was fantasizing about _him?_ What he joking? and since when did Lester actually joke? Since when did Lester have the capability of joking? It was so strange that Connor couldn't even bring himself to comment snidely about how he barely gets paid anyway.

Eyes locked on the man in his office behind the wall of clear glass, Connor shook his head and tried to figure himself out. Maybe he didn't hate Lester.

* * *

Even after a few days had passed, Connor still hadn't been able to comprehend just what the hell his body was trying to tell him. Sure enough, he managed to piss Lester off more than twice a day; and sure enough when he did, and Lester gave him that look, he turned into a preteen discovering what his sex was for. The routine was becoming a bit ridiculous. Yeah, Connor didn't really have the biggest track record when it came sex—though it was possible he had the smallest next to a monk's—but since when did that make him so desperate or inexperienced that he got a hardon just from a look. And it wasn't even that attractive of a look, it was more like "I should be fearing for my life and well-being," than anything else.

It was just Lester too. He had tested it, you see. Captain Becker could pull off a withering leer enough to make one's heart stop if one pushed him in the right places. Now, Connor didn't make a habit of infuriating the man who was responsible for keeping him alive, but for the sake of experiment he did. And yeah, subject to Becker's pure anger, Connor felt nothing—except for maybe a little bit of terror.

Then, it somehow came to a head one night, when Lester was making dinner. Because, yeah, Lester made dinner almost every night. He even wore an apron, which had never ceased to amuse Connor. This time, though, he just sat at the bar watching the man move around the kitchen with some weird Lester-grace. Like that, just seeing the guy move, Connor could somewhat understand where his unfathomable attraction came from. While he had never considered himself to be gay, he hadn't really cut himself off from that possibility. He could easily appreciate an attractive body, male or female, and when he pieced together what Lester must look like under that stupid suit he never took off, there was something there. Maybe nothing quite so trim and fit as Becker or lean and toned as Danny, but then again, neither was Connor.

Still, that aspect wasn't the appeal that had Connor's attention. If it was, Connor would have probably noticed a long time ago, no. It had to be something that he could only have noticed recently, most likely since he'd moved in. Well, let's see then. What in his perspective of Lester had changed after becoming an unofficial, secret flat mate? As far as he knew, nothing was different. Lester was still an insufferable, controlling, OCD, anal retentive bastard and he still had the temper of a shrew. The only thing that might be notable is that Connor was now subject to his anger more often because they lived together instead of just having the man quip at him at work…could be time for another experiment. He needed to control the variables to figure this out.

Now was as good a time as any. Lester usually found some odd sense of peace in the kitchen, it was hard annoy him with anything when he was cooking. Which was perfect, if Connor managed to piss him off now, now that Lester was a blank slate—emotionally, at least—he'd know whether or not it was the whole anger thing that he got off on. Hell, it was worth a try. And the one, sure-fire way to get under Lester's skin was to be in the kitchen while he was making dinner.

So that was exactly what Connor did. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" his employer asked the moment he set foot over the threshold.

Lester hadn't even turned around. Damnit…how was Connor supposed to test the effects of his angry-glare if he didn't even look at him. "Um…" he stalled, "I just want something to drink." Maybe if his drew this out longer he could get a rise out of him.

"You'll have to wait," Lester shot back, staring diligently into the pot he was stirring. "Get out of my kitchen."

His tone was lower, a hint of a threat in his voice, and yeah, it stirred something up in Connor. But it wasn't quite right. He needed something else. "No," he persisted, "I'm thirsty."

The spoon stilled in the pot and the only sound between them was the gentle bubble of some sort of marinara. For a few moments, it seemed like darkness fell over the room, a powerful, terrifying aura that emanated from Lester's tense shoulders. Connor felt the weight of it like a tangible presence and for his own safety retreated a few steps back until he bumped up against the sink. Swiftly, Lester lowered the heat on the burner and put the lid over his sauce before turning on heel. The reaction was like baking soda and vinegar. Subject to that hard, almost-cold glare, Connor felt a rush deep in his chest that ran all the way down to the tips of his toes. He swallowed nervously.

"If I ruin my sauce because you thought it was funny to distract me, I will personally remove your small intestine." And yeah, usually Connor didn't heed those overly-violent warnings, but right about then he figured that Lester might actually go homicidal over pasta sauce.

"Right," he squeaked, wanting to run away but unable to move.

Suddenly, something in Lester's eyes shifted and the fury…didn't exactly fade but changed. Connor remembered this from that night in the bedroom, the first time his libido ran away with him. Now that he was looking for it, he could see what exactly it was. There was this unmistakable heat radiating between them, and Lester's apron was looking less and less ridiculous for the simple fact that it was wrapped around his body.

"Get out," Lester insisted, venom dripping from his tongue.

But Connor wasn't quite willing to end this yet. He stood his ground, braced against the counter behind him, and tried not to wither away beneath the intensity of Lester's…rage? Sure, rage sounds good.

"I said, out, Connor."

Then, Lester reached out and slammed a very firm, very painful hand down on Connor's shoulder. With more strength than anyone probably gave the man credit for, he yanked Connor forward and, well it wasn't exactly a kiss. The unbridled power that drew them together dashed every romanticized ideal from Connor's brain; it was more like a punishment, really. His hips hit the counter again, pinned almost brutally between it and his boss, and all Connor could do was cling uncertainly to Lester's apron as the man totally and utterly claimed him. The grip on his shoulder moved to his hair, pulling on his scalp more than enough to hurt, to keep Connor completely still. Surprisingly, the pain actually drew a very desperate moan from deep in his core and his hips moved on their own, trying for some friction against Lester's body.

All too quickly, Lester pulled away and practically dragged Connor out of the kitchen by his hair. "Wait!" Connor squawked, confusion overcoming what should have been self-preservation and arousal springing up where he should have been in pain. "Wait, please!"

Lester haphazardly flung him aside and went back to preparing dinner. "I said stay out of the kitchen."

Standing there, fingers rubbing gently over the sore spot on the back of his scalp, Connor didn't know what to say. Hell, he didn't know what to do. There was that sensible part of him that said "go, run away before he kills you," but he also felt the undeniable urge to challenge Lester. He barely stopped himself from stepping right back into the kitchen, testing what exactly Lester would do to him. _There's something wrong with me_, he thought. As quick as he could, he sought refuge in the bathroom so that he could take care of himself. He refused to come out for dinner. Connor wanted Lester…like _that_.

* * *

"What do you expect me to say to that?" Abby questioned, eyes a little too wide to be natural. "You're in love with Lester!"

Heaving a sigh, Connor put his head in his hands. "I am _not_ in love with him," he snapped wearily, "I'm most definitely not in love with him, I kind of hate him, he hates me, it's a mutual—hate…thing."

All Abby did was chuckled uneasily. "Okay…so what, you just want to shag his brains out?"

The thought did two things to him. One, he considered throwing up on Abby's shirt out of spite. Two, his dick perked up with its newfound interest in Lester. Connor was going to die. "Please don't ever say that again." He ran his fingers through his hair, over the sore spot from where Lester had mishandled him and a shiver ran down his spine. "I don't want to shag him. I mean, I don't think I do."

"You want _him_ to shag _your_ brains out?"

He looked up at her, trying to go for accusatory when all he achieved was a sad-puppy expression. "Maybe?" he admitted after a pause.

This time, Abby actually shut up. She genuinely had nothing to say to this because, honestly, she had never entertained the idea that Lester might _have_ a penis let alone be shagable. Oh and add to the fact that Connor might be gay…yeah, didn't see that one coming either. "Okay…" she said, searching for the words. "Um…maybe you should try, uh…talking to him. I mean, you _do_ live with him, right?"

"Me? Talk to Lester? Like, have an actual conversation?"

"Yeah, you're right, that's insane." Uncertainly, she put a hand on his shoulder and stood. "I can't help you, sorry. I mean, my usual advice in situations like this would be to shag him if you want to shag him, but…yeah, Lester. Ew."

With that, she walked away; Connor watched after her, feeling absolutely no better. Damn it, what was he supposed to do? He had some weird infatuation with his boss that had something to do with being afraid of him and—oh yeah, did we forget to mention?—apparently he got off on pain. What the hell? He wanted to have sex with Lester.

* * *

He ended up taking Abby's advice anyway, no matter how completely cliché it sounded. _Having relationship issues? Talk about it. Desperately in lust with your boss? Talk about it. Cock going crazy? Talk about it._ It seemed like every time he had a problem all he had to do was talk about it and everything would be okay…yeah, right… The only problem with that: How did one go about talking to Sir James Lester? He wasn't exactly amicable, and Connor was pretty sure that starting a conversation with "Hey, can I talk to you?" would end in the door slammed in his face. Lester just seemed to be even more pissed at him these days. When before he would at least make some mockery of conversation, now the drives to work were filled with awkward silences, and every time he walked into a room that Connor was in, the techie immediately looked away.

Things were awkward at work. Whenever Connor had a moment, he was thinking about Lester. When he didn't have a moment, Lester was usually telling him to do something stupid like…work and, you know, breathe.

Once he had gotten fed up, Connor stood nervously in front of Lester's bedroom door, shuffling from foot to foot. Lifting his hand to knock, his heart fluttered, and he decided that he should just quit stalling and get this madness over with. He pounded loudly on the door and braced himself for whatever the man inside wanted to snap at him this time.

Surprisingly enough, he wasn't snapped at. Lester pulled the door open a little with a neutral leer. "What is it?"

With a heavy sigh to steady himself, Connor spoke. "Can I talk to you?"

"About what?"

"About…the other night," he elaborated unsteadily, "in the kitchen, you remember? When you—well, when you…kissed me."

Lester's face remained carefully blank for a long moment. At first, he didn't reply. He almost seemed to be waiting for Connor to continue; as if just the mention of the incident wasn't enough of a subject to talk about. "And?" he questioned, somewhat curtly, "What would you like me to say?"

…That wasn't really the reaction Connor was going for. "Well, I just—I wanted to…I wanna know why you did it, I guess. No, yes, I want to know why."

Both men fell silent, considering each other. Connor looked expectantly at his boss; he needed an answer. The thought most forward on his mind for the past few weeks was the way that Lester had felt pressed up against him, gripping him, owning him. And yeah, he'd thought of the possibility of a repeat—and maybe some more stuff like it. One thing stood between him and that goal and that was Lester. Because Connor had already come to grips with the fact that he got hard at the idea, he just needed to be sure that what Lester had done wasn't just some weird lapse in judgment. Now, standing in the doorway to the man's bedroom, seeing him sans jacket with his sleeves uncuffed, he figured he was about to get his answer. When Lester's eyes narrowed sharply and he stepped back into his room, Connor refigured that figure.

However, Lester left the door open and shot an eye-rolling glance over his shoulder. "Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to come in?"

Connor went in. He felt a little strange to actually be invited in here without chasing after Sid or Nancy. Not really willing to journey too far, he leaned back against the door as it closed. He took a moment to look around, the neutral color on the walls accented by the sparse decorations in various shades of earthy green. The room was actually less Spartan than he originally thought, he just had to stand a stare for a moment to notice that the window seat really did have a seat on it and Lester did in fact have a TV hanging on the wall. It was quite honestly a nicely designed room—if maybe a little too neat for any sane person to live here.

Then, there was the bed. Fluffy pillows at the head, a down comforter and what had to be the softest-looking throw cover in the entirety of London; Connor was immediately jealous of how comfortable it must have been. In fact, he was one last reservation away from running over and throwing himself onto it.

"This is nice," he commented flatly.

Lester turned toward him, still working the knot of his tie loose. "I don't know what you expect me to say, Connor."

For what felt like several minutes, Connor couldn't figure out what he was talking about. He had forgotten what set of circumstances had brought him here in favor of watching Lester in the process of undressing himself. With a quick shake of his head to clear his mind, he could reply. "I don't expect you to say anything," he stated with a shrug, "I just want to know why."

"I don't know why." Lester quickly gave up on his tie and tried the top button of his oxford instead. He looked away from Connor. "I suppose I just wasn't thinking."

"Oh…" That wasn't the answer Connor was looking for, but to say he didn't sort of expect it would be a lie. He just hoped, maybe, he hadn't lost his head over something so inconsequential as an accident. "I um…I'll just—" He turned to pull the door open.

"I'm sorry."

Connor stopped cold with his hand gripped around the knob. "What?" he was sure he didn't hear what he thought he heard. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Lester had his back to him again. "What did you say?"

Lester's voice stayed carefully plain. "I said that I'm sorry," he reiterated. "What I did was out of line, so I—"

"No, wait. Stop talking."

"Excuse me?" He half-turned, fingers going still on the top button of his oxford, eyes narrowing.

"No," Connor repeated, "You don't apologize to people. You're a heartless bastard who values the safety of his pasta over human life and can't say something nice to someone without it sounding sarcastic. No, you don't apologize, not to anyone else, and you especially don't apologize to me."

In retrospect, maybe Connor should have just quit while he was ahead and left when he'd originally planned to. Lester was glaring at him again, that harsh, angry stare that did so many weird things to him. Backing straight up against the door again, he watched his boss approach with a sort of terrified satisfaction. Finally able to pull his tie loose, Lester wrapped it around his fist and slammed said hand against the door right next to Connor's head.

"What the fuck do you think you know about me?" Here, Lester stood over him a good few inches—or maybe it was just the way he seemed to tower in his vehemence.

Swallowing nervously, Connor gave a desperate attempt to look away from those fiery eyes. As far as he knew, Lester didn't talk like that—didn't use that word. The fact that he did now, something dark, thick and threatening oozing from his tone, went straight to Connor's cock. Heat spilled over his face; he knew he was blushing at the thought of just how vulgar the usually prim, collected, curt man could be. Lester's other hand slammed down next to him, caging him in. He jumped and turned away.

Quickly, he realized that he really did know absolutely nothing about Lester. There were things he thought he knew, the things he'd assumed and took for granted. However, he had never really had any sort of meaningful conversation with him and they didn't really spend much time together anyway. Just to be argumentative, Connor answered back.

"I know you kiss like you want to hurt me."

"Really?" Abruptly, Lester gripped the back of his head and tilted his face up.

Their lips met, just a little brush of contact that tingled down Connor's spine. Before it could mature past anything more than a chaste peck, Lester pulled back with the tiniest trace of a smug smile. Which, as it was, could have been totally justified because Connor had trouble finding his breath again. He looked up through heavy-lidded eyes, barely wincing at the tight grasp on his hair.

"Yeah…" he muttered softly.

Lester yanked him up, kissed a bit more insistently. Automatic reaction, Connor reached out to grab hold of his shirt, but Lester had other plans. He took Connor's wrist and pinned it to the door.

"Well," he hissed against Connor's mouth, "you kiss me back…" He stepped forward, so much closer and caught Connor's lip between his teeth for a moment, "…like you want to be hurt."

"I do," Connor groaned, and then he was silenced.

Lester pinned his other hand down and captured him in that "not really a kiss" from the kitchen. A high frequency quake ran through Connor, from his shoulders to his knees; the reverberations went straight to Lester's hips where they were pressed against the techie. Testing the waters, he tightened his grip and set his teeth into the soft flesh under Connor's ear.

"Ah!" Whimpering deliciously, Connor bucked his hips against the other man. His trousers were becoming too tight, too constricting. The sharp pain spread down his neck and his shoulder and arm; a part of him wanted to move away, avoid the hurt as much as possible. Instead, he tipped his head to the side, bearing his neck for more.

They shifted a bit; Lester clasped both of Connor's wrists into a one-handed grasp above his head and forced a thigh between Connor's legs. His fingers snaked up under the hem of the black T-shirt and dug short nails into the warm, soft flesh there. Letting out a high-pitched whine, Connor bumped his head against the wall and rolled his hips down, bucking against Lester's leg like he was in heat. Then, he felt Lester's teeth sink right into his neck again—the same spot as before—and he couldn't control his ragged gasps. He was going to have a mark there if they kept this up; the thought made him downright needy for it.

"What are you?" he teased breathlessly, "A vampire?"

Lester shoved him a little harder against the door and looked him right in the eyes with that sharp gaze. It sent a new rage of heat straight to Connor's cock. "Shut up," he snapped, "Or I'll have to shut you up."

Of course, that was an intriguing prospect. Though Connor was virtually a virgin with this sort of thing, he had watched his fair share of porn—and probably Lester's fair share too…maybe even Danny's as well… Off the top of his head he could think of a few things Lester might do to make him be quiet, and one of them included having that dark, red tie bound tight over his mouth. Then again, Lester probably paid something ridiculous for that article of clothing and Connor didn't think he was quite the type of man to ruin it. He imagined Lester kissing him senseless again, until he'd completely lost the capacity for words, and then he thought of Lester wrapping one of his huge hands around his throat and just…_squeezing_. His dick jumped in his pants.

"Fine," his chest fluttered around the words he was trying to get out, "shut me up."

In flash, Lester had a handful of his hair again and was dragging him down. Connor gave a quick yelp in pain before he could stop himself. His knees hit the floor with agonizing crack, but barring priorities, the second his hands were free, he reached down and pressed his palm over the hard bulge in his trousers. Lester jerked his head again and placed a quick but sharp slap to his cheek. Looking utterly stricken, Connor immediately dropped both of his hands to his knees.

"Did I say you could touch yourself?"

On any other day, that curt, half-amused, half-furious tone would have made Connor scoff. With this given set of circumstances, though, he found that he liked it. Just because he was being purposely disobedient, he looked straight up at Lester's hot glare and rubbed himself more deliberately this time. "I wager that you always wear a suit so that you don't sparkle when you go outside." Lester slapped him again, harder and then took back both his hands to slide his suspenders down his shoulders. Then, he made swift work of his fly.

When he began to slide his trousers down his hips, Connor was completely transfixed. Anticipation surged into the younger man's belly and down his thighs. If this was going where he thought it was going, he was about to see Lester's cock and most likely have it shoved into his mouth. That was both undeniably appealing and absolutely terrifying. This whole thing was hurdling ass-over-teakettle past the point of no return so fast that Connor wasn't sure if he wanted to slow down or not. By the look Lester was giving him, he wasn't sure that he _could_. Opening his mouth to say something, he couldn't find his voice. At that very moment, Lester reached into his boxers and pulled himself out. Connor wanted to say something about how the man could possibly be bigger than his considerable ego, but he stopped because…Lester _was_.

With a sharp swallow, Connor squeezed himself through his pants. His body was quivering and he realized that every single spot that Lester had touched in the last ten minutes was practically on fire. He wanted more contact, he wanted Lester to touch him, grip him, hurt him, _something_, just more. "Is that how you're gonna do it?" he prompted, his voice quiet, subdued.

Lester was almost smirking at him again. He grabbed Connor's head by the hair—Connor was beginning to think that the man had some sort of hair-pulling kink, but he wasn't really complaining—and glared straight into his eyes. "Put your hands on your knees. _Now_."

As much as Connor would have wanted to push it and challenge his employer to "make me," he figured that he wasn't really getting anything from it, besides sores. Reluctantly, he slid both of his hands down his thighs and held a somewhat desperate grip on his knees. The crotch of his trousers was bulging rather impressively.

"Good boy," Lester said, the condescending tone horridly obvious and it made Connor's cheeks turn red. "Now, open your mouth."

"Thought you wanted me to shut—Ow!"

A sharp smack to the back of his head cut off his cheeky comment. Barely wasting a moment, Lester hauled the techie forward and forced the head of his engorged cock past his lips. On impulse, Connor's gloved hands shot up and locked into the fabric of Lester's suit pants. He had never done this before—had never even had it done to _him_ before—so he didn't have the slightest idea what he was doing. Luckily, he didn't actually have to do much. Lester quickly took control, fucking into his mouth with shallow thrusts.

He stilled just for a moment to slap Connor again. "Hands," he snapped, sharply.

Moaning lightly around the hard flesh in his mouth, Connor flailed a bit. The command told him something, he knew that, but while his instinct had managed to tell him to let go, he forgot what to do with them. Lester rammed in further, hit the back of his throat and growled out a low profanity having something to do with the unforgiving heat of Connor's mouth. "_Hands_, Connor!"

When he got the message, Connor slammed his closed fists down on his knees. The press of Lester's cock head was teasing his gag reflex, and the hands that held him in place, held him open, so that he couldn't pull away from it. Even as he choked on that tangy flavor of precome, he was completely trapped to just kneel there and take it. It made his dick twitch in his boxers. He wondered what he must look like, sitting like this for the only purpose of servicing Lester's cock. Spit dribbling down his chin, jaw stretched wide so that his teeth weren't a problem, hair mussed up and practically torn out of his scalp, Connor couldn't begin to understand why he enjoyed this so much.

"My God," Lester moaned heavily, "the mouth on you, how the hell—oh fuck!"

Connor gave a rather loud, satisfied groan. His hips bucked uselessly as he squirmed in an attempt to relieve some of the increasing pressure there. It was starting to become painful, but well worth it from the way Lester was starting to come undone. His boss was really letting loose, thrusting deeper and harder until the gag reflex was no longer a problem. And Connor was doing this to him—with the press of his tongue and the suction of his cheeks. Encouraged, he leaned forward a bit and met Lester half-way…then the rest of the way…and his tried his damnedest to open up and not gag on the intrusion down his throat. To tell the truth, it kind of hurt, and Connor's eyes started to water. Then Lester made this choked off, little noise and gripped his hair impossibly tighter and it all paid off.

Really, it served the bastard right. For the past few weeks, Lester had been especially harsh where Connor was concerned and now the techie knew why. Now, he had found it blatantly obvious that Lester had wanted to fuck him as much as Connor wanted it and all of the mean things had just been out of sexual tension. So, Connor gripped his knees and opened his throat again and took his revenge by striving to make Lester go completely insane.

Breathing was impossible when Lester had his cock shoved so far down his throat, but Connor was learning some other tricks. For instance, if he forced himself to swallow while it was there—not the most comfortable feeling, granted—Lester would curse at him and yank his hair even harder.

Lester's climax was abrupt and smothering. At that point, Connor had his nose nestled in the wiry hair at the base and the man's come just seemed to shoot straight down. That is, it did until Lester pulled out in the middle of it all and painted Connor's lips and chin with white, sticky, bitter liquid. Blushing furiously, Connor couldn't make words come out of his misused pharynx. He looked up at Lester's face, his tongue snaking out on impulse to capture some more of that strange taste. He must have looked a complete mess of spit and come, but he forced himself to sit still because Lester hadn't let him move yet.

"My God," the man repeated unsteadily, finally releasing Connor to brace himself up against the door. He swallowed deep breaths and reached out to smear his thumb through the slick on Connor's face. "Have I hurt you?"

With only a slight hesitation, Connor answered. "Yes," his voice was hoarse and used and the sound of it brought warm wet precome leaking from his cock.

"Good." Straightening, Lester gathered his composure again and looked Connor up and down as he casually continued to unbutton his shirt. It was almost as if the whole thing hadn't happened—except that Lester's cock was still hanging proudly out of his trousers. "Don't just sit there, Temple, I'm not done with you yet. Get undressed."

Wouldn't it be awesome if Connor broke the speed barrier trying to get himself naked so that Lester could do more naughty things to him? He yanked his shirt off over his head and then started on his gloves.

"Wait," Lester interrupted. "Leave those."

Connor smirked knowingly, and promised himself that by the end of this night he was going to know every single kink that Sir James Lester had to offer him.

* * *

"Connor!"

Looking up from his lunch, the techie stopped talking. "What?"

"_Too much information_." Danny looked almost as if he was going to pass out from overstimulation of his WTF receptors in his brain. His hand was pressed against his forehead so far it might have gone straight through.

"Hey, you asked, mate."

"Yeah, but I didn't ask for the porn version!"

With a shrug, Connor smiled. "Then why did you let me get past the blowjob?"

Danny didn't grace him with a response.

* * *

They did it about three times a week; Becker had been keeping track. It wasn't too hard if you could tell the difference between Lester's unhappy expression from his happy one—there was a slight deviation in the way he lifted his eyebrow at people. One day, he told Connor: "How am I supposed to do my job and keep you safe when _my boss_ is the one doing this to you?"

Connor's head instantly shot up from the desk and he adjusted the scarf that he'd used to cover the many marks and bruises that he'd gotten from Lester. "What?" he asked, alarmed, "What are you talking about? Why are you looking at me like that? I didn't break anything this time, it was Danny! Wait…what?"

Sighing, Becker realized that Connor was sleeping at work…again. Hell, with all the _exercise_ he probably got last night, who would blame him. "You and Lester," the soldier clarified, "I don't like it."

"Oh, is that all?" Connor looked noticeably relieved.

"'Is that all'?" Becker mimicked flatly. "It's pretty bloody important if you ask me. Stop giggling at me!"

Clenching his jaw shut, Connor tried to keep the smile off of his face. He found it intriguing and kind of hilarious how fast his business with Lester had spread through the ARC. No doubt he could credit most of that to Abby, who really loved the idea that the boss man was finally getting some. Every _morning after_ Lester was in an uncharacteristically good mood—and apparently came in grinning like a loon. He still had distinct memories of the time Lester found out he'd told Abby in the first place—he still had the bruises. The thought made it hard not to smile.

"Connor, seriously!"

"I think it's kind of awesome how much you guys care about me," he said, reaching across his table for his coffee. "Danny and Sarah already gave me this speech, but Abby beat all of you to it. This is probably the part where you ask if I'm sure that I know what I'm doing and I remind you that I really am a grown man, and contrary to popular belief, I can make my own decisions."

Becker went quiet for a moment, obviously beat to the punch. "Are you sure?"

"Mate, just stop," surprisingly, Connor didn't sound annoyed so much as amused, "You taught me to defend myself. If Lester did anything that I didn't want, I'd definitely be able to at least get away from him, right? Besides, we're doing this right. I even have a safe word, his idea."

Frowning, Becker seemed to consider that. "I don't think I needed to know that."

Connor laughed out loud. "Then you shouldn't have asked!"

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay," the captain bristled a little.

That seemed to sober Connor up a bit. With a sip of his coffee, he looked Becker in the eye and smiled softly. Sometimes he forgot that the captain seemed to care more about him than any of the others on the team—which might have something to do with the fact that Connor's an extra-strong trouble-magnet. "Look…" he swiveled in his chair a bit, "…you don't have to worry about me so much. If I was ever in any real trouble, you'd be the first one I'd come to, you know that, right?" He waited until the man nodded to continue. "Well, then, trust me about this. I have something here, with Lester, and…" He sighed fondly at a memory of the night before.

"And what?"

There was some mischief in his eyes when Connor looked up again. "I think he fancies me, even if he won't admit it in the morning."

Becker raised an eyebrow, feeling like he was missing an important part of the plot. Pulling a chair over, he sat himself down across from Connor. "Tell me," he demanded.

* * *

Usually, Connor was expected to strip bare, fold his clothes neatly—because Lester is anal retentive—and position himself as instructed on the bed. More often than not, Lester pushed him face down with his knees bent so that his ass stuck up in the air. It was always hard and fast with very little lube between them. Lester would fuck him until the techie was to the point of begging and pleading to be allowed to come. One of two things would happen next: 1. Lester would continue to tease him until he cried pretty enough, or 2. He would pull off the cock ring and make Connor come so hard he saw stars. Last night was completely different.

By the time they got home, Connor thought that Lester was probably going to beat him a few shades darker than usual and would have been just fine with that. However, the situation, the reason for the older man's anger was something other than Connor himself. Apparently, when they stopped off at a convenience store on the way home because Connor really wanted to stock up on chocolate bars, the clerk had said something rather nasty having to do with his mouth…and Lester actually punched the guy in the face. Needless to say, they had to leave before Connor could get his chocolate, unfortunately.

The incident kept Lester buzzing the entire drive home. In fact, he almost yanked the gear shift out at a turn. Once they actually got inside, Connor was taking his coat off and about to put it in the closet like Lester told him to; then Lester grabbed it from him, tossed it on the floor and proceeded to drag him into the bedroom practically by the scruff of his neck. He wasted no time slamming the door and practically tossing Connor flat on his back on the bed. The techie didn't get it, this was all wrong, and he started to ask what was going on.

Lester gripped his jaw tight and kissed him hard, spreading Connor's legs so that his hips could fit in between. Lester was usually so controlled and neat, when he yanked Connor's vest open and shirt off and tossed them both aside without a second glance, it was almost surreal.

"Wait!" Connor said, shakily. "Lester, slow down!"

Ignoring him, Lester pulled his mouth open and dipped his tongue inside, just tasting and feeling while his hands stroked roughly down Connor's sides. Then, he pinned his arms down and just kissed him, hard and slow, for ages. It was careful and thorough and Connor found it strangely endearing. He was used to roughness and that sweet burn of pain mixed in with his pleasure, and he really liked it that way. But this was nice too. After a hard session, if Connor had been particularly good, Lester would let him cuddle the rest of the night, pressing his sores and marks against Lester's soft, heated skin. The man would grumble at him for it, but this proved that he must like it in some way.

"Connor," he growled insistently.

Don't ask how, but Connor knew exactly what he was being told to do. As Lester shrugged off his jacket and dropped it off the side of the bed, he dug around his pocket for the lubricated condom. Then, Lester ripped his shoes off without unlacing them and his pants without undoing the fly.

"Why are you being so—?" Connor started; he was cut off by his own loud cry.

His boxers disappeared because Lester must have been made of magic tonight. He pushed Connor's knees up to his chest and unceremoniously shoved a finger inside of him. With awesome foresight of awesomeness, Connor had prepped himself in the locker room before they left the ARC. However, the sudden intrusion still had him writhing and twisting the sheets in tight fists.

"…weird," he finished on a stuttered breath.

Suddenly it was two fingers thrusting into him and Lester was leaning over him again, teeth scraping not-gently over the shell of his ear.

"You're mine," the older man hissed, "_mine!_"

The words sent a massive ripple of shivers all over Connor's body. He groaned loudly, pushing his body down into the thick penetration. Sure, Lester never ceased to surprise people—hiding a strange sense of loyalty in that freaky head of his that only came out when the entire ARC was threatened—and Connor couldn't pretend to understand him…but what was unfolding right before him now took his breath away. There had been a degree of possessiveness between them before, Lester made sure that he knew just who was in charge. This, though, was a whole new level of intimate that they hadn't hit yet. Connor's heart leapt.

"Okay," he muttered his consent, not sure what else he could say to that, "okay, yeah I am."

"Say it."

Three fingers now. Eyes rolling deliriously, he let out a hoarse sigh at the rough stroke over his prostate. He wasn't so far gone that he missed the almost frightening hint of desperation that sounded so foreign coming from Lester. "If, _ngh!_" he had to swallow to gather enough control over himself to speak. "If this is about that bloke in the liquor store—"

"_Say it!_" Lester tore his fingers out brusquely and jammed both of Connor's shoulders harder into the mattress, looking him in the eyes with that intense leer. "Say it…"

"Okay," Connor breathed, gently, "M'yours. I am, Lester. I'm yours."

There was a monumental difference now from all of the other times he'd ever said that. Before, when those words fell out of his mouth it was "I'm yours to do with what you will;" now, it meant "I'm yours and no one else's." Followed up by Lester's hand tugging firm and slow over his cock, it was almost something from a cheesy romance novel…you know, the ones in the _ADULT_ section of the library.

Connor wasn't sure when the man had gotten his pants undone, and he was also vaguely aware that he was still gripping the foil-wrapped condom in his hand. The next kiss was prelude to a hot, blunt pressure at his entrance. He barely spared a thought to worry about the whole safety-issue when Lester pushed himself all the way in with one, strong thrust. A scream arose from the back of his throat, made of pure pleasure, and he wrapped his legs tightly around his hips. Immediately, Lester picked up a slow, hard rhythm.

Going out on a limb, Connor reached out, hooked both of his arms on Lester's neck and just held himself there. It was really nice, so close and so personal that he found himself praying that he wouldn't be pushed away, back down to the bed—just this time. All Lester did was run a hand down his shoulder to his elbow in an almost-tender caress and press their lips together in an almost-kiss. And, of course, continued fucking him.

"I can't believe—" Lester murmured in the midst of kissing him over and over again, "how absolutely—exquisite you are." He was quickly building up speed with his thrusts. "Won't let anyone else—even _think_ about you—like that. _Mine_…"

Right about then, Lester was hitting his prostate just about every time, sending sparks through him. Connor's mouth fell slack under the man's assault and he panted and sighed and moaned and cried out in ecstasy. He remembered seeing how Lester had punched out the guy behind the counter for him—defending his honor, supposedly—and he groaned louder and held tighter. "Yes!" he sobbed, "Yours! Yours! M'yours! _Always_ yours!"

"Say…my…name."

When Connor screamed out a choked-off "_JAMES!_" both men shuddered and tipped past that precipice that sent them both tumbling towards forever. White-hot coated their bodies between them and Lester pulsed and filled Connor in the deepest place possible. It was lovely.

Afterward, Lester recovered his senses enough to clean up—retrieve, fold and put away misplaced clothes, including the coat left in the hall, and wipe up the entire mess of semen that stained them both. He then slid into bed behind Connor and held the young man to his chest in a tight embrace. They lay together, sated and comfortable in the darkness. A long silence fell over them, and Lester must have thought he was asleep at one point because Connor heard him when he muttered "…you're beautiful."

* * *

During the course of the story, half of the personnel of the ARC had meandered into the audience, including Sarah, Danny, and Abby, and some of Becker's soldiers—and Lester's secretary. Some were wide-eyed, some slack-jawed, and everyone was flushed some shade of red. Damn, Connor must have been a damn good story-teller. _I should write some of this stuff down_.

"Wow," Becker commented eloquently.

Smirking, Connor took another sip of his coffee. He was feeling very satisfied with himself.

Then Danny, the bastard, had do go and open his mouth. "Kid, you're like a walking porno that I don't have to pay for." Needless to say, Connor almost choked on his coffee. "I'm just saying…"

"Well, I was thinking it too," Abby admitted, smiling through the scarlet blush on her face.

Connor sighed heavily. "Guys! If you don't wanna know, don't ask!"

Surprisingly, Sarah started laughing. "Sweetheart, no one said that they didn't want to know. Personally, I think it was kind of cute…y'know, in that raunchy, hardcore kind of way."

"People!" Everyone turned, heads snapping around to see Lester standing, narrow-eyed, just outside his office. "I'm not paying you for Connor's sexy story-time! Get to work!" Only Connor could see the definitely twinkle of amusement in the man's expression. "Mr. Temple, I'd like to see you, now please." He turned on heel and disappeared into his office—the blinds were drawn on those silly, floor-to-ceiling windows.

Becker turned around first, followed by Danny who whistled lightly. "Someone's in trouble," the ex-cop said.

With a smirk, Connor stood. "I hope he _spanks_ me," he commented snidely.

* * *

_**Don't forget to review!**_


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